Tag Archives: humor

TBT! Could Healthy, Organic Foods Be Killing You? Probably.

(Sept. 6, 2014) The answer is of course! If you hit anyone hard enough with a cantaloupe it would probably kill them. The question is are health foods killing you slowly and insidiously the way health food advocates claim that all those so called “unhealthy” foods are?


See that picture? Notice the smiling cartoon children? Of course they’re cartoon children! You can’t get real children to smile about squash for breakfast! I’m calling Child Protective Services on anyone who buys this for their kids.

A clinical study that I would do if I had the time would show that healthy, organic foods are killing us little by little, emotionally and maybe physically. In an article I found online anthropologist Rachel Caspari said that by examining Neanderthal dental records, her team established that 130,000 years ago, ‘no-one survived past 30. At least I think that’s what she was saying. I didn’t want to read further in case she presented some alleged facts that wouldn’t support my point.

And what is my point? My point is that 130,000 years ago nobody was frying stuff, nobody was adding antibiotics to anything and nobody was giving cows steroids, and guess what? They didn’t live past 30. So back when all we ate was organic foods nobody lived very long. Then when we started adding additives, preservatives and trans fats around 1900 or so the average human lifespan in many developed countries has extended to 80 or better.

See that picture? “Chickenless” nuggets? Just knowing they exist made my soul die a little bit. Take a moment to imagine a life where you wake up, grab a cup of Fair Trade, Organically Grown Coffee, pour yourself a bowl of Banana Squash Squares for breakfast and then, after a long, hard day of work, you come home to a dinner of “Chickenless” nuggets made from textured wheat protein. Maybe later with a glass of organic wine you’ll munch on some flax seeds. Did any of you feel happy when you imagined that scenario? No! Of course not. Health food is bad for your soul. Now picture swinging by Starbucks in the morning to grab a brownie and a tall Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino. Then for lunch you grab a juicy burger and fries. When you return home maybe you eat a little healthy by having some nice salmon, but when you settle down later you top the day off with a couple chocolate chip cookies. How did you feel when you thought about that day? Much better right? So called “bad” food is good for your soul.

Also, if nuggets were to forever be chicken-less, would the chicken population explode and civilized areas would be overrun by chickens running around without having their heads cut off? That’s the apocalypse scenario I’m worried about. Zombie chickens!

Picture credit: play.google.com

Picture credit: play.google.com

So, in summary, if you eat too much “healthy” food you won’t live as long or feel as happy, and you would cause us to be overrun by chickens. Is that what you want?

So what are your favorite indulgent foods that make you feel better at the end of a rough day? What are the worst healthy foods you’ve ever seen or eaten? As always, if you enjoy #ThePhilFactor feel free to share by hitting the Facebook, Twitter, or re-blog button below. Have a great weekend! ~Phil

Top Ten Tuesday! The Ten Worst Fortune Cookie Messages


The other day I got a really lame fortune cookie fortune. It was something like “Don’t stick your arm in a wood chipper or you’ll be up in arms.” It got me thinking that not all fortunes are fortunate. Here are the ten worst fortune cookie fortunes:

10. That time that you thought no one saw you, someone did.

9. You should probably get that rash checked out. It’s worse than it seems.

8. Calm down. That girl in accounting flirts with everybody.

7. If you’re looking for wisdom in a fortune cookie you’re a moron.

6. You should probably brush up your resume’.

5. Your blog isn’t as funny as you think.


4. Avoid nude beaches. Please. 

3. Don’t eat any Chinese food today. It will make you very ill. No, seriously, stay near a bathroom.

2. A bird in the hand will probably crap in your palm.

1. Don’t worry about the expiration date on your milk. Don’t ask how I know. I just do.

So what’s the best fortune you’ve ever gotten? Did you ever have any come true? Have a great Tuesday! ~Phil

The Nipple Ring Open

The title got your attention didn’t it? Yesterday The Golden Boys and I played the 27th annual Nipple Ring Open.   The 1990 Nipple Ring Open was the first of the official Golden Boy weekend functions. We were all out of college and Chuck had gone off to the Navy. He was back for a week after boot camp and of course could think of nothing better to do than to spend time with The Golden Boys. As I said in Chuck’s write up, The Golden Boys were, I believe, more responsible for raising him to be the man he became than his own family was.

Apparently we did a very poor job of instilling our values in him. He runs off to join the Navy and comes home with…a nipple ring. As his mentors and role models you can imagine how disappointed in him we were. Of course you can also imagine how much abuse we heaped upon him, including a fair bit of painful tugging on his ring. The Nipple Ring Open was an informal golf tournament we played amongst ourselves and videotaped a large part of our idiocy.


I’m not sure if Chuck still has the nipple ring, but I wouldn’t bet against it. About 10 years later we had the 10th Anniversary Nipple Ring Open and we all wore matching shirts that we had specially made and which said, “The Golden Boys: Nipple Ring Open 2000.” We only realized later, as we all sat in McDonald’s in our matching Nipple Ring shirts, how gay we must have looked. The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the golf was bad.

This year we played our 27th Nipple Ring Open, and apropos to the title, we all went shirtless, but no one had a nipple ring.

Have a great Sunday! ~Phil

One Golden Boy Short

I’m sure all of you are wondering what we do when one of our Golden Boys is missing from one of our functions. That’s easy. We replace him. There are two ways we replace a Golden Boy. One is with our back-up Golden Boy, Ozzy. (No, not the singer, but another of our friends with a nickname.

The other way we replace a Golden Boy is with a cardboard cut-out. Gooby is very technically inclined and using pictures of me from 8th grade and one from high school graduation he created two life size card board cut-outs of my head and shoulders. By all reports my card board cut-outs have had a lot more fun than I have on some Golden Boy weekends.

One year, I was unable to travel to Connecticut for Chuck’s wedding, but if you watch Chuck’s wedding video there I am, from the shoulders up, dancing with bridesmaids, sitting at the head table and hanging out at the bar. The pics in this post are actually freeze frame images taken from Chuck’s wedding video. Needless to say that Mrs. Chuck was none too pleased with the prominence of my cardboard likeness at the reception.

Last year Gooby was unable to make it to our Golden Boys trip to Florida, but his head made it and accompanied us everywhere getting his picture taken with women all over south Florida.

Have a great Sunday! ~Phil

Highway To Hell: A Golden Boy Road Trip

Yes, the Golden Boys do occasionally leave New York to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting denizens of other locales. A few brief, but memorable, moments occurred during just such a road trip when we set sail for Golden Boy Tom’s nuptials in the windy city of Chicago. Tom was already in Chicago with his betrothed, while Gooby, Chuck, myself, and auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy packed ourselves into a Ford Probe for the 12 hour drive.

Yes, four fully grown men packed in to a small sports car for twelve hours. Very cozy.

First off, let me say that there should be a Golden Boys soundtrack because so many songs are associated with specific moments that we all remember. Those of you on the wrong side of 40 would enjoy our music. One such musical moment occurred spontaneously during the trip to Chicago. As we all cruised along, mocking me for not driving fast enough, the 1980’s mega-hit “The Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats, came on the radio. Without a word, our bodies began to bob back and forth in uncanny unison to the music as we all spontaneously burst into singing the words loudly together.

You can dance if you want to. You can leave your friends behind, ‘cuz your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine

The passengers in other cars going by us laughed and pointed.

Shortly after that we stopped at a rest stop in Ohio. Two things happened in fairly quick succession shortly after we sat down to eat. Auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy inadvertently introduced a full-fledged, habit wearing nun to the phrase “knob job” and Chuck was filmed sitting helplessly on the commode. That’s one thing about being a Golden Boy. You’re guard has to be up at all times. Especially if you’re naked. Whether it be showering, sleeping, or using the toilet, there is always an excellent chance another Golden Boy will film or photograph you and then send it by e-mail to everyone he knows.

Throwback Thursday! The President Might Kill Me

(Feb. 9, 2013) He’s probably not trying to kill me right now, but he might. And he could, and it would be legal. I’m sure President Obama wouldn’t be the first to think about killing me, but he’s probably the first that could do it legally by remote control plane. Earlier this week the Obama administration re-affirmed a Bush era policy that gives the President the right to unilaterally decide to kill someone that might be a threat to the country in the future.  If you need more factual information than I’ll ever provide you can read about it here: http://www.cnn.com/2013/02/07/us/drones-classified-document/index.html

Sure my little Barack Obama jokes on my blog may seem cute, but what if Barry gets his panties in a bunch and decides that I’m trying to lead an uprising? I won’t debate the pros or cons of the policy, but I will say as a “guy” that it is a seriously awesome policy. We get to sit home playing Call of Duty while Barack by virtue of his job gets to play it for real. Part of the policy leaked to the public this week indicated that Barack Obama could use drone planes to assassinate anyone he thought might be a threat to U.S. security. Drone planes! Seriously, how cool is that? I wonder if he has a Playstation controller in his desk drawer that he takes out.

Now if he’s picking off al-Queda operatives I’m cool with that. But what if he gets some bad info? Or worse yet, what if somewhere out there some terrorist has the same name as me? Sure, the chances of that are fairly small, but it could happen. How can I rest easy knowing that Barack could be scrolling through the online White Pages and click on the wrong Phil Taylor when he’s targeting the drone? Or what if Barack decides to take a night off, gets all liquored up, checks Michelle’s browser history and finds that she’s been visiting my blog just a little too often? That is exactly when we need a little bit of the old checks and balances system.

I’m pretty sure that my ADT security system won’t be much help if a drone flies in my front door and tries to drop a smart bomb in my pants. It won’t matter where I am if Barry decides that me or my blog are a threat to the country. I’m pretty sure that if Dominos can find me in 30 minutes or less the Air Force can GPS the hell out of my cell phone and find me no matter where I am.

I’d just like to say a big hello to all the wonderful CIA and FBI operatives reading this today. Welcome to The Phil Factor! Think about this: the CIA and FBI monitor “internet chatter” to find threats to U.S. security. I assume that they probably have some internet filter that grabs onto anything with certain keywords they’ve programmed it to look for. In the course of this blog I’ve used the words President Obama, kill, smart bomb, al-Queda, threat and Michelle.

In the event that I’m killed by a drone plane or I mysteriously “disappear” please keep #ThePhilFactor spirit alive by hitting the Facebook Like or Share buttons. Also, I’m still on my quest to have my novel White Picket Prisons gross more than the $264 that Christian Slater’s movie Playback did, so if you haven’t, please buy my book for your Kindle, Nook, or iPad for only $2.99. You can also keep up with all my writing hijinks including contests by following my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Phil-Taylor/331876066920144

Btw, this is me talking in present time. Not part of the Throwback post anymore. I don’t care who any of you voted for. Just please don’t make President Trump aware of this policy. If he knew that he could use drones to kill anyone at any time…

Have a great Thursday! ~Phil

She’s Sick and So Are You!

My first guest blogger ever in over 12 years of The Phil Factor is….Christine of I’m Sick and So Are You!  Trust me, if you didn’t know her before, you’ll enjoy her writing. She’s tremendously funny.

Phil’s a little busy writing a book, so he gave me the keys to his blog, asked me to water the plants, pick up his mail, and write a new blog post for him. Unfortunately I’ve already killed the plants and accidentally dropped all his mail in a mud puddle. Sorry, Phil. 

I did manage to write a blog post, though.

It’s about that one time I puked.

On a bible.

In front of ten or so impressionable children.

At Sunday school.

My father used to boast that he had an iron stomach, could eat anything and never suffer gastrointestinal consequences. Given that he would routinely cut around mold on bread and eat the rest of the piece with a smile on his face, I’d say he was right. I, on the other hand, have a stomach made of down feathers and those tiny white squishy pellets you find inside a bean bag chair. I get queasy just saying the word queasy.

My lightweight stomach was put to the test by some lukewarm orange juice, one Sunday morning, when I was just a little kid. I had spent the prior night at my close childhood friend’s house, which was a fairly regular occurrence. Any Saturday night spent at their home meant I had to join the family at church the following morning. It also meant that I accompanied my friend to Sunday school before church. Sunday school kicked ass.

See, I was raised in a strict Catholic household. I didn’t go to Sunday school because Catholics don’t do Sunday school. They do catechism classes. On Saturday. Saturday school did not kick ass like Sunday school. Sunday school was all about singing and crafts. Saturday school was all about taking quizzes in notebooks and being told you were going to hell because you didn’t know what the holy trinity was.

So, as you can imagine, I looked forward to Sunday school. While my friend and her sister wore looks on their faces like we were being shipped off to war, my grin was ear to ear. Hell yeah, Sunday school! 

I also looked forward to the name brand yogurt we ate for breakfast before we went to Sunday school. I’m the youngest of six children, so money was a little tight in our house. There was never name brand anything in our fridge or pantry or on the back pockets of our jeans. Name brand yogurt was something to look forward to and I ate it with the kind of fervor you’d expect of a poor girl that was eating well and knew she was not going to hell today. Then, I quickly washed it all down with a big glass of orange juice.

Tepid orange juice that was just a teeny tiny bit chunky. 

Now, maybe it was my excitement surrounding Sunday school or the giddy feeling I had eating fancy yogurt, but I didn’t panic about my questionable beverage right away. So, we all hopped in the car and headed for the Lord’s house. My stomach wasn’t feeling so great along the way, but I figured it was just a touch of car sickness. Once we parked and went inside to kick ass Sunday school, everything was going to be okay. That’s what my head told me, but my stomach was like, girl you need to get real! Something serious is about to go down.

My friend and I skip off to Sunday school and, at first, things were great. We’re coloring and gluing and singing songs. All was right in my world. Every once in a while my guts would churn a bit in an unfamiliar and slightly distressing way, but I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of me coloring my picture of Jesus while not being told I was going to hell.

After arts and crafts and singing it was bible time. We all took our seats at tables arranged into a big rectangle, so we were in perfect view of each other as we took turns reading passages from the bibles opened before each of our cherubic faces. One child after another read aloud and there I sat, silent, stomach rolling like a ship lost at sea. Tiny beads of sweat, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, began to form on my brow. I could feel the color draining from my face.

With a force that could only be described as menacing, the entire contents of my stomach burst from my face as if they had been shot from a cannon. Chunky orange juice, name brand yogurt, and possibly the prior evening’s tuna casserole. Everywhere. The volume of vomit so great, one could barely make out one clean corner of the bible that lay before me.

All I remember beyond that moment, other than the choruses of “ew” and “gross” and the occasional dry heave, was being maneuvered outta there and chauffeured home. My shame and embarrassment ensured that I would never return to Sunday school again. I only ate name brand yogurt on Saturday mornings from then on and never, ever, ever, ever drank lukewarm orange juice ever, ever again.

If you enjoyed this post I can well imagine you’d enjoy all my other posts at my blog, I’m Sick And So Are You. I bet you probably want to follow me on Facebook and Twitter, too.